


To Lose You

by DearSeptember



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Typical Violence, M/M, Multi, canon typical depictions of sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-10-14 23:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17517731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearSeptember/pseuds/DearSeptember
Summary: Karl is being sent away. Anders isn't going to let that happen without a fight.





	1. Some Lesson to Be Learned

**Author's Note:**

> *The sound of me clawing myself from the depths of Anders/Karl hell*
> 
> This was meant to be a single chapter. I swear. This was meant to be a single chapter. Then things quickly spiraled out of control, and it became an AU where Anders never merges with Justice, Karl is a main character, and the entire plot got away from me. 
> 
> For all intents and purposes I imagined Karl as Anders' teacher where the age gap between them is roughly 10 years or so. Characters, rating, and storyline subject to change. Title of this chapter is taken from "Young Bodies" by Sea Wolf, because the year is 2019 and I still write song-fics. 
> 
> Thank you, and enjoy

If he were lucky, it wouldn’t feel like anything—he would be dead.

     There was no wind that night. The cloying scent of pine hung thickly in the air of late autumn, punctuated by the distant aroma of smoke from the fires that warmed the tower. The frigid stillness bit at his cheeks and nose as he looked out at the lake below; a blackened mirror, only illuminated by a single wound of moonlight across its still, glassy surface.

 Anders didn’t want to be lucky, not tonight. Which meant this was going to hurt. A lot.

 

       _“Ahhh…fuck, Karl!” He bit the sleeve of his robe, forehead almost slipping against the gnarled wall where the other hand held up his shaking body. He could feel the other man’s breath hot against his neck, soft lips caressing the skin there. There was a low grunt—he never knew how Karl could keep so quiet when he was fucking his brains out—and a heat spilled inside Anders, dripping down the backs of his thighs. Karl kissed his hair, pressing his sweat-slicked chest against the other man’s back before pulling out._

_They collapsed on a pile of rags tossed over straw that had been carefully strewn into a makeshift bed over the past few months. In a whisper, Anders conjured up a small fire spell to light the candelabra beside them. He lay down, resting his cheek upon his lover’s thigh. In the dim light, he could see the soft strands of grey in Karl’s hair._

_“Come around here often?” He said with a grin. Karl smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. It was one of the things Anders enjoyed most about him. He rolled onto his back, reaching up to trace Karl’s jaw with his fingers. What had been stubble only weeks before was now a short, coarse beard flecked with the same silver as his head. Anders wrinkled his nose. “Are you really going to keep that thing?”_

_“What, my beard?” Karl laughed, running his fingers through it. “I was thinking about it since it’s getting colder. Why?”_

_“It’s itchy. Besides, it makes you look like Irving. Old man.”_

_“Do I detect a hint of jealousy perhaps?”_

_Anders scoffed, crossing his arms._

_“I think it makes me look more ‘Enchantery’ don’t you?” Anders sat up._

_“You’re right. You definitely look more like my teacher again,” He said, raising his eyebrows. He moved closer to Karl, sliding his knees up over his lover’s thighs._

_“Anders, what are you—“_

_“And I’ve been a bad student.” He nipped lightly at his neck, a smile spreading across his lips. “Maybe you could give me a…private lesson?”_

_“Mmm…” Karl hummed as Anders made his way down his collarbone, pushing the robes from his chest once more. He caught Anders’ hand in his own, tongue grazing the other man’s fingers. “Put out that candle, and I’ll see what I can do.”_

 

     If he would have known that would be their last time together he wouldn’t have peppered it with such achingly saccharine words. He wouldn’t have hurried out of his robes like a Chantry sister before taking her vows. He wouldn’t have mentioned Karl’s beard, or Enchanters, or all the politics the Circle had to offer.

No.

     He would have held his lover close against the mattress until his nails left moon shaped crescents on the skin beneath them. He would have pressed his nose to his hair, breathing in honey, and cinnamon, and the perfumed oils Karl wore that were belonged to him and him alone. He would have whispered every word that he was too afraid to say out loud, and Karl would have believed each syllable that poured from his mouth. He would have stayed until the golden light of morning cascaded through the stained glass windows, promising to never leave his side.

     Even with magic, however, he could not rewrite the past.

     Pressing his nose against the window, Anders gazed again upon the lake beneath him. Frost gripped the edges of the glass in jagged patterns. His breath spiraled steadily out in front of him. Small clouds foreboding the winter that was about to blanket itself over Ferelden. Surely the waters had already begun to freeze which meant swimming across would not be an option. If he survived the initial fall, the cold would kill him before he reached the other side.

     The first time he foolishly jumped into the lake from the docks had been a week after his arrival. All freckled skin, muscle stretched across thin bone, and burning with vitriol he dove the moment he had the chance. He didn’t know where he was going, nor where he would run when he got there. All he knew is he needed to get _out_. But the thick robes were heavy against his young frame. Each movement he felt himself being dragged to the belly of the unforgiving waters.

    Against all odds he had reached the other side only to cough up so much water that he lost consciousness. Of course, he was caught a few hours later, and—thanks to that little excursion—a guard rotation was assigned to keep watch of the docks at all times. It was something his naïve arrogance at the time thought remarkable, though it did make that method of escape impossible for quite some time.

     This time his salvation would come in the form of wide, nervous brown eyes, and a uniform that hung haphazardly from a body barely large enough to fill it. The young man was almost shaking the first time Anders spotted him in the library, curly dark hair falling against his forehead every which-way. _Poor bastard,_ He remembered thinking, _probably has never seen a mage in his life._

     The young man was an orphan. At least, that’s what Anders decided when they ran into one another again. Just another lost soul snatched by the Chantry at the first opportunity with promises of a better future. He watched the young man for a few days, subtly grinning when their eyes met. It took longer than he expected. The kid was dense, skittish, only allowing the façade of professionalism to slip when Anders all but threw himself at him after a day of aggressive flirting.

     He never learned the young man’s name. For that, he was grateful. Fraternization with the Templars wasn’t something he normally partook in, remembering the times when he knew they wished he had. Gazes that fell to him too often, cruel hands that lingered just a little too long. A cold reminder that even the “kindest” of their lot thought of him as only something to be used, then discarded.

     Dangerous, but not too dangerous to try to fuck when other’s backs were turned. But this was different.

     It didn’t take much. A few times of blowing him behind the bookshelves, and the recruit was like putty in his hands. It also didn’t bother Anders that he had an impressive cock, even if he didn’t quite yet know how to use it. After their third time together—still drunk on sex, and trusting every word that fell from his pretty lips—He caved.

 

_“All you have to do is get me across,” He punctuated the request with a kiss, hands unfurling the belt at the waist of the young man who was already practically whimpering with lust. “Drop me on the shore, and row back. Tell them you were out there because you heard a splash, but it was too dark to investigate.”_

_Anders cornered him in the dining hall after supper, pressing him against the wall behind the great fireplace at the head of the room. The stone tiles bit at his bare knees, but he shook the feeling knowing that he wouldn’t be down there more than a moment or two. He ran his fingers across thighs that likely hadn’t seen sunlight in months, nipping at the skin there with more skill than the recruit would likely ever know again._

_The young man trembled, thrusting his growing member toward Anders’ mouth as he tried to speak._

_“Y-you’re sure I won’t get in—ahh!—trouble?”_

_Anders licked the base of his shaft, amber eyes gazing upwards with a heady smile. He almost felt sorry for how easy this all was. Almost._

_“Positive. Earich will be asleep. He always passes out after a few drinks. All you have to do is wake him.” He took the young man’s member into his mouth, licking the tip where he dripping with precum. “You know about me, yeah?”_

_The young man nodded, fingers tearing at Anders’ scalp as he sucked him off._

_“Y-yeah…yeah I do...”_

_Anders stopped a moment, causing the young man to whimper._

_“Then you’ll know I’ve done this before.”_

     Six times before to be exact. Each time he was caught, but each time he managed to extend his “freedom” a little more. Each time worth it. He longed to feel the sun against his face, and the dampened earth against his back. He craved the taste of piss-watered ale, and the whistling of birds in the treetops, and to be able to count the endless stars in the sky on clear evenings. It was worth it, until it wasn’t. But he wasn’t going to think about _that._ Not now.

      All that mattered now was Karl.

_“Anders…we need to talk.”_

_They were alone again, this time in the classroom Karl found himself in more often than not those days. The faded, velvety curtains had been drawn until only the thinnest glistening of light danced across the surface of the desk where they both leaned. Karl crossed his arms, eyes focused uncharacteristically downward to avoid Anders’ questioning gaze._

_Nothing good ever began with “we need to talk.” Those words were reserved for the times (albeit few, and far between, and usually starting because Anders did something stupid) when they fought._

_Anders swallowed, chewing at his lower lip. He couldn’t remember anything that had happened recent—well, wait, maybe when he had interrupted ‘Enchanter Thekla’s’ class that time to ask about the benefits of chain-lightning during intimate situations in front of a dozen giggling apprentices…yes, maybe that was it. But then why had Karl pulled him aside at the first possible opportunity to try those aforementioned “benefits” for himself? Why wait until weeks later to bring it up?_

_And why wouldn’t he look him in the eyes?_

_“What’s wrong?”_

_Karl looked at the ceiling, then down again, breathing deeply through his nose._

_“I have to go.”_

_“…I mean…we might be late for dinner, but if you wanted to…” Anders mustered up a light-hearted laugh from within his throat, reaching for the other man’s hand. But Karl pulled back, eyes still focused on the stone beneath his feet._

_This was wrong. This was wrong. This was wrong._

_“They’re sending me away.” He paused, then, quietly, “I found out this morning.”_

_His stomach dropped, rising again in his throat until he was sure he would be ill right there. Somewhere—between the spinning of the world around him, and words that kept repeating themselves in his head—he found himself asking,_

_“What do you mean ‘away?’”_

_Away. Away. No. Whatever Karl was saying, it could not be real._

_“I’m being sent to Kirkwall.” The words came slowly, sighed in a scarce whisper._

_“For how long?” Anders could hear his heart beat in his ears, and painfully against his ribcage. This could not be real. This could not be real. It was the Fade. It had to be. It was a demon of despair taunting the deepest corners of his nightmares. He drove his teeth further into his lip, the metallic tang of copper against his tongue. From somewhere in the din, he heard Karl speak._

_“Anders…I’m not coming back.”_

_No. No. No!_

_“Why?” He didn’t realize what he was saying, questions now falling freely as the tears that trickled down his cheeks. He didn’t feel himself move until the Karl’s face was grasped in his hands. Those bright, solemn eyes piercing him through and through. ._

_“They could have anyone they want! Why not Wynne, or-or Niall, or—,”_

_He searched for any sign that this was a dream, a cruel joke, a misunderstanding, but found none. Karl shook his head, grasping Anders’ hands within his own, and squeezing tighter than either of them ever thought possible._

_“I...Anders, listen,” He sucked in a deep breath, “They know about us.”_

_In that moment it was all abundantly clear. Irving, Greagoir, the Maker-damned Circle would never knowingly let them keep any shred of humanity. Things like love could not exist in the Circle. It was a warning. Another story. Another lesson to teach those who thought otherwise._

_Still, gripping his lover’s fingers until his knuckles turned white, he begged for those words to not be true. The forlorn reflection in the blue, tear brimmed eyes staring back at him did not waver in their conviction._

_He would not lose Karl. Not to the Templars, or the Circle, or the Maker himself._

     The pebble slipped from the ledge, and he watched it tumble against the tower’s walls until it was swallowed in the darkness below. This would not be the first time a mage had flung themselves from the window of their prison. There were occasional rumors of the fools (almost always apprentices) who had tried over the years. Scared, confused souls seeking escape over eternal confinement, or worse, Tranquility. The stories always ended the same, the best of which involved only broken bones and mangled bodies. Tales of corpses being fished from the deceptively deep waters days later were enough to keep the wise from thinking of trying such a thing.

     Anders smiled. For all the things he had ever been called, “wise” had never been one of them.

     He hoisted himself upon the ledge of the window. This was it. This time there was not the option of being caught. There was no chance of once again finding himself in the darkest parts of the tower's cellar. No threat of whips, or scrubbing pots until his fingers bled, or even the possibility of the sun-shaped brand against his forehead. There was only the lake stretched out before him, and the knowledge that he would soon be truly free. He closed his eyes, took a breath so deep that his lungs ached...

     And he jumped.

 

 

 

 


	2. Wake Up

_“What’s your name?”_

_The voice was soft. Warm. It was thick honey hidden at the bottom of a cup of bitter tea. The slightest lilt, the hint of a smile in his tone whispered of a home from long ago that he could not quite recall outside of his dreams. It bore a stark contrast to the metallic chill of the armored gloves that gripped his bare wrists._

_“Doesn’t speak the common tongue; teach him.”_

_Spittle sprayed from his captor’s lips onto the sun-freckled skin of his cheeks and neck as the man barked orders from above. A shiver coursed its way down the young mage’s spine, and it took every ounce of willpower he could conjure from his exhausted body not to tear free of those sharp, cold hands. Instead, he focused on the ground below his feet and the honey-laden voice responding._

_“But Serah, I’m afraid I don’t—.”_

_“Figure. It. Out.”_

_Another command. The iron hold was released, but not before the man in armor gave him a final shove forward. The mage lost his balance, knobbed knees colliding into the stone beneath them. Footsteps clanged away from his bruised form. The great, wooden door swung shut with a dull ‘thud.’ His throat swelled with a sob that he swallowed, the backs of his eyes prickling with tears that would not fall as he turned his gaze still downward from where he now knelt._

_And then, quiet._

_“Sorry about him. He’s not always such an arse.” The honey-voice spoke in exasperation, a heavy sigh in its soft tone. “You would think they would get someone with manners to show the new apprentices around, Maker. Did you just arrive today?”_

_Quiet._

_The young mage clutched the threadbare pillow he was holding to his chest as though it was the only thing left in all of Thedas worth protecting. He brought its fraying embroidery to his lips and nose. Firewood. Herbs used for the heartiest of stews during the most unforgiving of winter evenings. The faintest hint of wildflower perfume. He breathed in deeply until his lungs cried out for air._

_“Oh…that’s right…you don’t speak…”_

_“Yes.” He finally mumbled against the pillow, wiping his eyes with his palms. “Yes, I just got here today.”_

_The honey-voice took a step forward, kneeling in front of him. The young mage felt a firm, warm hand upon his shoulder. It was the same enveloping warmth held in every syllable the voice spoke. It permeated even the heavy, woolen fabrics of the robes that scratched at his skin._

_He did not pull away._

_“So you do speak the common tongue after all?”_

_A nod._

_“I’m Karl.”_

_Karl. It was a name he recognized from the village where he was born. A common name. He could almost imagine it spoken on the tongues of stern mothers whose sons chased chickens around the dirt while ignoring their chores. It was a good name he decided. Fitting of the voice it belonged to._

_“Do you mind telling me your name?”_

_For the first time since he entered that wretched tower, the young, battered, scared, starving mage peeled his gaze from the ground to catch the eyes of the man before him. Blue—a clear lake, a cloudless day in the middle of the warmest days of summer—blinked back at him, their corners crinkled in a smile. Hair the color of sand near a river fell into them, sticking upward and outward every which way. Karl squeezed his shoulder, and the same warmth that his voice held radiated through his entire body like sunlight._

_“Call me--.”_

 

“That’s a lovely story and all, but that’s not how it happened.”

The honey-voice paused, its eyebrows furrowed at the young mage before it.

“But don’t you remember, Anders? This was how we met. I was the first person to say your name. I was the first person to show you any scrap of kindness. Don’t you remember how warm my voice was?”

Anders—still lithe, still the faintest of freckles on his nose, but much taller now, and no trace of tears in his voice—stood. He brushed off his knees, then tucked his hair behind his ears.

“If I recall correctly, _Karl’s_ voice couldn’t speak two syllables without cracking when I first met him. You got the eyes spot on though, I’ll give you that.”

Karl—or at least the thing that looked like him—also rose to his feet. He stood only a little shorter than the man in front of him, lips parted beneath the hint of a beard Anders remembered from their last romp in the disused classroom only a few days prior.

“Maker, Anders,” he rolled his eyes. “You’re speaking nonsense again. I _am_ Karl.” The thing that looked like his lover raised a hand to caress his cheek. “Just let me show you, love.”

Anders held back a snort of laughter, turning his back to the other man.

“This has been great, but I’m going to leave now.”

 

Anders awoke to a sharp pain in his leg, and metallic tang of copper at the back of his throat. His head spun as he blinked against the sunlight that danced through the clouds above him. He lay there, listening to the soft songs of birds just waking in the branches of the trees that dotted the shoreline. Other sounds began to echo against his ears. He closed his eyes once more to listen to them. It was almost peaceful. The chirping, the warmth across his face, the lapping of waves at his ankles.

  _Waves._

It hit him. Where he was. What he was doing. What had happened. It hit him like he hit the water after flinging himself from the near-top of that blighted tower.

He stood quickly.

Too quickly.

Too quickly.

He crumpled back to the ground, blood trickling from a gash on his thigh. All at once his head ached mercilessly, and his lungs felt like fire burning in his chest. Each breath brought with it the rattling of water. Cold, damp clothing clung to his skin. What had once been white fabric was now stained in hues of red, and pink, and brown; scars from landing upon the jagged rocks that stretched like gnarled hands from the depths of the lake. He brought his wound-freckled palms and knees to the pebbly earth beneath them as the contents of his stomach were emptied onto the wet ground. When all he could do was dry heave, he lifted his head.

 The pack that he instructed the templar leave with him was nowhere in sight, nor was his staff for that matter. Why go through all the trouble of aiding him only to leave him stranded with nothing? A small groan passed from his lips, and for a moment he thought he would be sick again. Had the young man helped him at all? He didn’t recall being fished from the water, or a boat, or any indication that he hadn’t simply washed ashore. If that was the case, did they even know he was gone yet? Had he been ratted out instead of rescued, or was everyone blissfully ignorant to his absence? It must have been the latter, at least thus far, or they surely would have found him by now.

It worked. Sort of. Sure he was broken, bruised, and bleeding, but he was _out._ Free. He half-expected to be in shackles at the bottom of the tower again, or at the bottom of Lake Calenhad for that matter. But he wasn’t. He was free. Free. _Free!_ The words tickled his tongue as he whispered them to himself, a grin spreading across his face. It faded just as quickly, however, as one very significant question began to repeat itself.

Now what?

No one had ever accused him of being wise. He ventured a guess that being a good planner was included in that statement. Falling back to the balls of his feet, he rested his chin in his hands. He was alone. Frozen. Without coin, clothes, or any inkling of his next step. What would Karl do? The thought made him snort. Karl would probably scold him for being there in the first place, then kiss him stupid. Anders licked his lips at the idea. Karl was the reason he was here. Finding Karl was all that mattered.

Ignoring the protests of his body, he once more rose to his feet. With a final glance behind him—at the lake, and the docks, and tower enshrouded in fog in the distance—he walked into the wilderness.

 

 

           

 

           

 

 

 

           

 

 

           

 

           

           


End file.
